Saw: Outlaw
by Ulquiorra9000
Summary: What if John Kramer, the Jigsaw Killer, lived in the Wild West circa 1880? Read on and witness a determined sheriff and the brutal trap master clash!  Only half-serious.  Will be three chapters long.
1. Chapter 1

**SAW: OUTLAW**

by Ulquiorra9000

**A/N: **Some of the traps in this series may be kinda similar to those in the canon Saw movies, but I'll do what I can to make these original. Enjoy!

**TRAP ONE: The Sheriff**

Sheriff Richard Simmons put up his booted feet on his creaky wooden desk, drawing in on his cheap cigarette and sighing the smoke back out. The sun was setting, throwing its warm orange light into his office through the half-shuttered windows, glowing on the small bookshelf, dusty picture frames, and most importantly, the yellowed "wanted" posters on the rough wooden walls. Richard, who was starting to feel his advanced age, ran a hand through his graying hair and squinted with contempt at the pictures of outlawed men and women on those posters.

_Many of 'em are worth a good chunk of cash, but none as much as that last one, _Richard mused, his eyes drifting to the last poster of a man worth a staggering $5 million. The poster had the man's only known photograph, a male in his mid-50's who had intense eyes, light gray hair, and a puckered, V-shaped mouth. He was John Kramer, better known as the Jigsaw Killer. Richard pursed his lips and drew in on his cigarette again, thinking of how badly he wanted to capture and beat the living hell out of that devil before giving him a good old-fashioned public hanging.

Ever since losing his wife Rebecca, Richard had started a downward spiral in his duty overseeing this shabby Western town, savagely beating criminals and outlaws to vent his frustration and anger and try to and fill his empty heart. None of it worked. Sheriff Richard felt as empty as ever... and the Jigsaw Killer roamed loose, he and his outlaw gang rounding up innocent victims and placing them in brutal life or death traps.

"Pffft. I'm getting too old for this," Richard spat, lowering his feet and standing up, picking at a spot on his itchy black and red-checkered shirt. He stomped over to his hat stand, his boot spurs clinking with every step. Placing his leather hat on his head, Richard sighed and headed to the door to go home, trying to decide whether to stop by the tavern on the way. Hell, he probably would.

Someone was outside the sheriff's office to greet him, a tough-looking man that Richard didn't recognize. Richard tipped his hat a little, giving a terse hello. "Hey. You new 'round these parts?"

"I sure am," the man nodded, concern in his voice. He gestured to the office door. "I'd like to talk 'bout it in private, if that sits well with you."

Richard nodded and led the man inside, closing the door behind him. "What is it?"

"I'm a bounty hunter, and I've been looking for Wild-Eye Morgan, who was seen around here recently. Could I see your papers about her?"

"Yeah," Richard warily agreed, "but only I get to rifle through my desk's papers, you hear? I'll bring them to you. Follow me."

"Fine," the bounty hunter agreed, and accompanied Richard to his desk like a shadow.

"Mind if you give me some personal space?" Richard demanded, bending over to slide open a drawer and shuffle through the papers. He didn't see the bounty hunter slowly un-holster his revolver and raise it.

"Oh, you'll have some time yourself very soon, all right," the bounty hunter smirked, then taking Richard by surprise, raised his revolver and smashed the top of the sheriff's head with the butt, knocking him out cold.

*o*o*o*o*

Groaning, and aware of a throbbing pain on the top of his head, Richard blinked and opened his eyes wide, then involuntarily gasped and twitched, not recognizing his surroundings or how he got here. He was sitting upright in a simple wooden chair in a small room, barely six feet high and eight feet wide, but about fifteen feet long. He was seated at one end, and there was a closed wooden door at the other end. _What in blazes...? _Richard frowned and bolted to his feet, first looking up at the single lit kerosene lantern hanging from the ceiling, then down at his feet.

There was the clink of chains as Richard stood, and he saw a thick iron cuff around each of his ankles, pinching into the fabric of his jeans. The cuffs were chained to the floor on thick metal pegs, keeping Richard in place. Grunting, Richard kicked out with his right leg to tear out the foot-and-a-half long chain, but the stubborn metal refused to yield, stretching taut but not granting him freedom. Panic rising in his throat, Richard panted with fear as he kicked out with his left leg, but the left chain didn't break, either. Gritting his teeth, Richard walked as close to the wall as the chains permitted and banged his fists on the walls, screaming. "Help! Someone help me! Who the hell did this? Hey!"

There was no verbal answer, but the wooden door crashed open, revealing the dark desert night outside. A single man stood silhouetted in the door frame, and Richard stopped cold, feeling an aura of menace coming from this newcomer. He sank back to the chair and settled onto it, his chest heaving as he stared down the newcomer. "Who... what?"

"Hello, Sheriff," the newcomer responded in a chilling, hoarse whisper. "I want to play a game."

Richard groaned, rolling his eyes. "If this is yer idea of a prank, I'll catch your ass and give you a good punishing! You hear me? I'm the sheriff of my town! People will miss me!" He raised his voice as he spoke, fear and anger mingling. The newcomer only chuckled.

"You don't know me, Sheriff Simmons, but I know you," the man went on. He wore a cowboy hat and a cloth over his mouth, both of which were revealed as he stepped closer to the lamp's light. "Ever since the death of your wife, you cursed the fates that took her away from you and tried to fill the void by beating outlaws in your burning sense of justice. I can see it, Richard... every day is empty monotony for you, and you cannot even discover life's simple joys for yourself. Tonight, we will find out just how much you really care about yourself."

Recognition and dread crept up in Richard's gut. His eyes bugged out. "You... yer the Jigsaw Killer! That man who approached me and knocked me out..."

"One of my assistants, yes," Jigsaw, or John, nodded. "I don't care about Wild-Eye Morgan, I care about _this_. You and your life." He spread his arms wide to encompass it all.

Richard spat on the ground. "Fine, I believe you. Now what in blazes do you want me to do?"

In response, John produced a stick of dynamite, making Richard's breath catch in his throat. "Unless you can free yourself in time, Richard, you will experience the fires of punishment for your stubborn refusal to live properly. There are two keys for your shackles, each different from the other. One for the left, one for the right. Get them, or die trying, Richard."

With that, John struck a match and lit the long fuse of the dynamite and set it down just outside Richard's reach. John backed up, his eyes flashing malice as he made eye contact with the terrified sheriff. "Live or die, make your choice."

"You... bastard! You dirty outlaw! Let me out of here! Now!" Richard exploded, but Jigsaw only chuckled again and exited the room, closing the door behind himself but not locking it. Richard was left alone, only with a live stick of dynamite for company. He stared at it, judging from the size of the stick that he would die from its fire unless he escaped this shack and fled.

Gulping, Richard looked this way and that, trying to find his way out. He was too far away from the dynamite to blow or stomp out its lit fuse, so he needed another way out... if there was one! Maybe Jigsaw had lied about there being keys? Then, the answer appeared: two little shelves, one on each of Richard's sides and well within reach.

Richard stared at the left shelf. A simple bear trap had been bolted onto the shelf, held wide open with its metal teeth just waiting to bite down. A key lay just under the delicate trigger plate, tantalizingly close.

Richard gulped, staring in horror at the waiting trap while listening to the hiss of the lit fuse counting down to his fiery death. _I... I gotta reach into the trap and get that key! Criminy, but that trap looks custom-made. No way can I touch that key without setting the trap off! I could lose my wrist to that bastard Jigsaw! _He whipped his head to the right and saw an identical shelf and bear trap, with a different-shaped key in the trap. He had no choice... either brave the trap jaws, or get blown to ashes.

Kicking aside the chair with a clatter, Richard approached the left bear trap shelf, clenching his teeth. He tried to kick free his left leg's shackle, but the chain was as resolute as ever. Taking a deep breath and praying for strength and agility, Richard drifted his trembling hand toward the bear trap, grimacing with the willpower needed to stick his hand into a notorious trap. His hand hovered before the trap, but he glanced at the dynamite and saw how little fuse was left. Now, or never!

"Grrraaah!" Richard thrust his hand into the trap and seized the key in his triumphant fingers, but before he could withdraw, his clumsy hand pressed against the trap's round panel and the the trap snapped shut, white-hot pain surging in Richard's arm as the iron teeth clamped onto his fleshy wrist, drawing streams of bright red blood. He lost his grip on the key and tugged at the trap, but his arm didn't come free.

_That thing was more delicate than I thought! The slightest pressure set it off. _Richard couldn't believe his luck. Panting from the hideous pain, he seized the trap's upper jaw with his right hand, straining against the device's springs. Fueled by adrenaline, Richard got the trap's upper jaw up with trembling fingers and grabbed the key again with his left arm, then pulled the key out.

"Damn it!" Richard cursed, hot blood leaking from the punctures on his throbbing wrist. He wanted to tear his shirt and bind the wound, but there was no time... the dynamite's fuse sizzled on. Richard knelt and fumbled to get the key into his left shackle, then turned it and the cuff dutifully popped open. Crying out in victory, he pulled out the key and thrust it into the right cuff, but the key only got halfway through the cuff's keyhole. True to Jigsaw's word, only the right bear trap's key would open the cuff.

Furious, Richard threw away the left key, letting it clatter across the wooden floor. He tried to reach the dynamite with one leg free, but he was held back by his right chain, a grim reminder that this game was only half-done so far. The dynamite's fuse was three-quarters gone now, horribly close to the stick. Sucking in a deep breath, Richard stepped over to the other bear trap and raised his unharmed hand to get the key, then realized the nature of this trap. _I used these two hands to beat the living daylights out of all those outlaws, and now Jigsaw wants me to hurt those hands in retribution! You've got style, Jigsaw, if nothing else_.

There was no time to waste. The hiss of the fuse seemed deafening, but didn't quite drown out the sound of blood pounding in Richard's ears. He thrust his hand into the remaining bear trap and took hold of the waiting key, and the bear trap slammed shut on his wrist, forcing Richard to clench his teeth and hold back a shout. He seized the upper jaw to wrench it open like with the other trap, but his hand was slick with blood and made it difficult to get a good grip. Meanwhile, the fuse's spark drew within inches of the dynamite body.

_No... not this close to freedom... _"NO!" he bellowed the word, and worked his fingers under the trap's teeth, prying the jaw up with a burst of strength. Now feeling light-headed from the mix of terror, adrenaline, and increasing blood loss, Richard withdrew his right hand and knelt again, bringing the key close to the right cuff's keyhole. Blood slid onto his hand and onto his fingers, making the key grow slick in his grip. Richard tried to to slip the key into the cuff, but the blood made it slippery and the key fell to the floor. Beyond cursing, Richard used his less-bloody left hand to take the key and jam it key into the cuff's hole, then twisted it. The cuff snapped right open, relieving the pressure on Richard's right leg.

There was nothing else for it; Richard stood up and shakily ran the length of the death shack, bolting into the fresh night air as his booted feet stomped on the desert ground, leaving the hated wooden building behind. He realized that the shack had been built on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere, and the dynamite could go off any second. Richard dived, tumbling his way down the hill, ignoring the pokes of sharp rocks and stiff desert plants along the way. Sure enough, there was an ear-shattering boom and flash of light as the dynamite ignited, and Richard covered his face with his bloody hands to block out the flash in the dark night. As soon as he tumbled to a halt, he simply lay there, sobbing and groaning in the dark night as pain throbbed in his wrists with every heartbeat. It was agony... but he was alive. Very much alive.

"There! I did it! I beat you, Jigsaw! I'm justice, you hear me?" Richard threw back his head and shouted but there was no one to hear it, only the flaming remains of the shack on the hill. There was a frightened whinny, and Richard jolted, stunned by the new presence. He whipped around, but there was only a saddled horse standing there, its eyes radiating fear from the explosion. Richard sighed and laughed to himself. He approached the horse and saw a piece of paper resting on the saddle along with a roll of bandages. After wrapping up his wounds, Richard took the paper note and held it to his eyes, reading it by the moonlight.

_Congratulations. You're still alive. You used to resent your very life, the world that had been so cruel to you, but not anymore._

There was a little drawing of a puzzle piece at the bottom of the paper, almost like a signature. Glaring at the paper, Richard crumpled it in one hand and tossed it onto the ground, then mounted the horse. He pressed his heels to the animal's sides and it set off at a brisk gallop across the quiet desert. Richard's mind, however, was anything but quiet. _I'll say it again, Jigsaw. You won't get away with this! I'll find you... and I'll bring you to justice. This ain't over yet._


	2. Chapter 2

**SAW: OUTLAW**

by Ulquiorra9000

**A/N: **This chapter will pretty much be a bridge between chapters 1 and 3... and an excuse to see another trap!

**TRAP TWO: Heavy Drinker**

The afternoon sun washed its heat across the desert terrain, making the air roil and waver like water over the dusty ground, rocks, and dry bushes. Sheriff Richard Simmons ignored the uncomfortable surroundings as he urged his horse to run faster, the animal galloping tirelessly toward the upcoming town. Richard squinted his eyes against the airborne sand and bright sun, focusing on the clustered buildings ahead. Before he got there, another horse-bound person departed from the town and moved to intercept Richard. Not surprised by the rider's urgency, Richard slowed his horse to a halt, letting the other person approach. It was the town's sheriff, a tanned man with crow's feet at the corners of his eyes an a bushy brown mustache.

"Are you Richard Simmons? The one investigating the Jigsaw Killer?" the sheriff asked urgently as he pulled the reins to bring his horse to a halt. The animal skidded into place, blinking curiously.

Richard tipped his wide-brimmed hat, the bandaged cuts on his arms still tingling. "Yeah, that's me. Joe Peterson, sheriff?"

"Right," sheriff Peterson said gruffly, then pointed to a hill outside his town. A vulture swooped overhead, its wide shadow sliding quickly across the hot ground. "It's up there. Follow me. You'll want to see this."

Gut squirming in anxiety, Richard urged his horse forward and joined sheriff Peterson across the landscape to the hill, and as they drew closer, Richard saw a hastily-constructed roof supported on four wooden poles, and a coffin-sized device underneath. Peterson's horse galloped right up to the scene, under the shade of the roof and next to the bed-like device. Richard joined him, dismounting his horse and walking up to the device, frowning.

Peterson looked at it, too. "Poor fella. Jigsaw claims another one."

"I'd say so," Richard agreed grimly, looking at the puzzle piece-shaped branding mark on the victim's exposed chest. The body lay prone in the trap, fat but unmoving. Apparently, he had died only yesterday.

*o*o*o*o*

**Earlier...**

Harry's eyes snapped open, staring overhead at a wooden roof. He groaned, aware that he was lying down, and that his head was still buzzing from last night's drinking spree. _Oh man... it was worth it, though_. Harry tried to sit up, but oddly, his wrists couldn't move, and his neck was bound, too. Trying to focus thought the alcohol-induced haze, Harry's eyes widened as he suddenly realized what was going on.

"Hey! Hey! Where am I? Where is everybody?" Panic rising in his throat, Harry whipped his head this way and that, his chest heaving. His head was inside a square glass box without a lid, and looking down, Harry saw that his neck was poking through a wooden panel, and dark cloth was stuffed in there, making the seal airtight. Harry couldn't see the rest of his body, but he felt that he was lying on a wooden platform and his wrists were apparently bound in iron cuffs nailed to the wood. Try as he might, his wrists wouldn't come free, and the wood panel holding his neck in place was beyond breaking through.

Breathing hard, Harry ground his teeth and shouted, "Is this someone's idea of a joke? Let me out of here! Can't anyone hear me?"

The sound of spurred cowboy boots walking across the ground made Harry's breath catch in his throat, and he turned his head to the right to see a man approaching, entering the shade of the wooden roof. A black cloth was over his mouth, but his gravely, hoarse voice carried perfectly well. "Hello, Harry, or as they call you, 'Dirty Harry'. I want to play a game."

Harry forced a weak grin. "Hey, don't be like that. Can you let me out? Some bastard must have put me here and..."

The man chuckled, and the quality of the laugh chilled Harry to the bone. "You spend every day and every night of your life in one saloon or another, drowning your life in alcohol, not realizing what a gift life is. You live as though there were no tomorrow. And if you cannot win my game, there really will be no tomorrow for you."

Harry shuddered, his jaw trembling. "N... no! Are you the Jigsaw Killer? That outlaw everyone keeps talkin' about? You're worth a lotta money, you know!"

"Oh, no one will find us here, I promise you that," Jigsaw told him, then walked over to the head section of Harry's trap. "By sundown, I will be gone, and you will walk away with a new appreciation for your life... or you will be dead."

Harry's eyes tracked Jigsaw in horror as the outlaw moved what sounded like a wheeled cart, out of his vision range. Then, a barrel mounted on a wooden frame was rolled over Harry's head, a metal nozzle pointing at his face.

"To survive, you need only do what you do too much: _drink, _Harry," Jigsaw warned him. "This barrel has enough liquor in it to drown you, but if you can drink enough of it, the barrel will run dry and your mouth will not be submerged, and you will be freed. Let the game begin."

As he finished speaking, Jigsaw twisted a knob on the barrel, and clear liquid leaked from the barrel's nozzle and splashed onto Harry's face, making the drunkard spit it out and turn his head. "Hey! Too fast!" he objected. However, Jigsaw increased the flow a little more, and the cool liquor continued to flow over Harry's cheek and start to accumulate on the glass box's bottom. Realizing that he had no choice, Harry turned his head back upright and opened his mouth, catching the liquid in his mouth and gulping it down. He kept gulping as the liquor kept coming, one mouthful after another. His stomach began to feel full, but the liquor flowed on and on, so Harry kept drinking it. However, dribbles of the liquor kept escaping and slowly filled up the glass box, making the clear liquid creep halfway up Harry's ear level.

_Come on. How much is there? _Harry wondered as his heart raced and his nerves chilled with the fear of death. He felt his hair grow damp and clump from the steadily rising liquor, but he swallowed down another mouthful, praying for this to end. He tried to take a breath and gulp another mouthful, but he accidentally inhaled some drink, and his lungs burned as he hacked and coughed the liquor out. The liquor relentlessly continued to pour from the nozzle, making the box's liquid level rise halfway up Harry's cheeks, encroaching toward his mouth. "Oh God... oh God..." Harry swallowed some more liquor, but his stomach felt fit to burst and his face ached, and he merely coughed in the pool of drink, too weak to keep up.

The barrel must be almost empty by now, driving Harry to drink faster. He turned and drew in liquid from the box, but he ran out of breath and reflexively breathed in, drawing liquid into his lungs. Squirming in burning pain, Harry rattled the wooden bed as he tried to fight his way out of the nearly-full box, but his whole head was submerged, and he shut his eyes against the stinging alcohol even as his lungs burned for air. Harry's mouth opened wide, and his throat and lungs were filled. His vision flickered and faded to black, and the last thing he felt was the cool sensation of the alcohol bathing his head.

*o*o*o*o*

Richard's gaze drifted from the victim's puzzle-piece brand to his head, which was in what seemed like a water-filled glass box, the man's black hair drifting around in the liquid. The liquid was only an inch deep from evaporation, but Richard could tell that the box had once been full, drowning the victim in liquid. Richard leaned closer, pushing away a cart-mounted barrel over the man's head, and sniffed the water... it was actually alcohol. This man had been drowned in liquor?

"He was known as Dirty Harry around here, the heavy drinker," Peterson supplied. "Poor bastard. He wasn't good for much... but he didn't deserve this."

"No. He didn't." Richard shook his head and looked up at the other sheriff. "Listen. I've got a family. My brother, and his wife and two children. Actually, they're grown up, but I haven't heard from them in a long time. I fear for them. Jigsaw is still loose, and I admit... my brother and his family aren't the nicest of people. I have to find Jigsaw before he gets them!"

Peterson looked shocked. "In... in that case, you should see this. Funny how you mention your family." He handed over a piece of paper, and Richard read it with terror. _Sheriff Richard, you survived my dynamite trap, but the game isn't over yet. Your brother and his family break the law and run around with criminals, and have done nothing good or selfless for anyone in this hard land. If you want to see them again, you must find them. Find ME._

The bottom of the paper was a map to an old ghost town and a picture of a puzzle piece, and Richard crumpled the paper and thew it on the ground. "He has them! My... my brother's family!"

"Are you going to pursue them? It could be dangerous..." Peterson said uncertainly. Richard glared at him.

"Of course. And I need your help. This could be it. Will you help me take down Jigsaw? This land needs heroes like us."

Peterson gulped and nodded, but his eyes were hard. "Very well. I'll bring my men. In good time, that bastard will twist in the wind."


	3. Chapter 3

**SAW: OUTLAW**

by Ulquiorra9000

**A/N: **No rattlesnakes were harmed in the making of this chapter. Also, I made up a new background for Jigsaw... well, this one anyway. Maybe this guy is like the 21st century Jigsaw's great grandfather?

**TRAP THREE: Ghost Town**

It was well into the morning, the hot sun already climbing high into the cloudless sky. Richard and Sheriff Peterson had met outside Peterson's town, double-checking all their equipment for storming Jigsaw's current location. A half-dozen of Peterson's allies were here, armed men charged with keeping order in the town. Sliding his revolver into its holster, Richard confirmed that he was ready and glanced up at Peterson, who gave a nod.

"There it is!" Peterson confirmed an hour later as the warm sun rose higher into the sky and the ghost town came into view. Richard leaned forward on his horse and squinted ahead, spotting the cluster of abandoned buildings on the other side of a rocky ridge. All eight men were ready to foil whatever plan Jigsaw had in mind, and as they rode closer, the eight of them drew their pistols and got ready.

Jigsaw was ready for them, too.

"Aaaaargh!" one of Peterson's allies cried out as blood blasted from his chest, and the man fell from his whinnying horse and tumbled to the ground. One of Jigsaw's own compatriots smirked from his horse, his gun barrel still smoking. Richard swerved his horse to the side as his allies and Jigsaw's side exchanged fire, but his heart sank when only a few minutes later, everyone on Richard's side except himself was dead, their horses injured or running away.

Richard was alone, and Jigsaw and his horse-riding guards surrounded him with guns raised.

"Wait. Don't harm him," Jigsaw told his men, raising a gloved hand. At once, his men lowered their pistols, their black horses stomping in place. Jigsaw, who wore a dark cowboy hat and a black bandana over his mouth, removed his bandana to have a proper conversation. Jigsaw, or rather, John Kramer, guided his horse forward a step, the older man's cold eyes boring into Richard.

"What do you want with me? You've won! Why don't you finish it, you bastard?" Richard growled, his heart thumping in rage at his swift defeat. His horse nervously pawed at the ground. _So close! He's right here, but I can't finish it. Damn, his men are good shots. None went down._

"Why don't I finish it?" John repeated with a small but cruel smile spreading across his face. He chuckled. "Because I want to play a game. Follow me."

He guided his horse over to the edge of the rocky ridge, his men following along. Gritting his teeth, Richard realized that he had no choice but to obey, and tromped forward on his horse, his animal side by side with John's. Everyone looked down at the nearby ghost town, the spectacle waiting to start.

Richard's breaths hissed between his teeth, glaring hard at the outlaw next to him. "If your note is correct, Jigsaw, my brother and his family are down there! Get them out! Or I will!"

"There are _rules_, Sheriff," John reminded him, giving Richard a condoning look. "Obey them."

"But... there is a fence around that town, a tall one! How can they escape?" Richard spat, pointing down at the square own. Indeed, a ten-foot high wooden fence completely encircled the desolate town, preventing escape. Barbed wire ran along its top. "My family didn't deserve this."

"There is a way out," John said, also glancing over at the town, "And it's up to your brother and his family to find it. They are not worthy to live, Richard, not after their crimes, their apathy, their lack for interest in truly living. As a family, they will learn to fight for the right to live... or die in the process."

"But..." Deep inside, though, Richard thought that Jigsaw did have a point. Kind of. His brother, Mark Simmons, was notorious for theft, murder, gambling, and many other terrible deeds. He was condemned for the gallows... if he would ever be caught. His family, his wife and son and daughter, enjoyed their father's terrible ways, but now Jigsaw had them. That was worse than any due process of law.

John cleared his throat. "Why don't you pay attention, Sheriff Simmons? The game is about to begin."

With a huff, Richard tore his gaze from Jigsaw and looked down at the town.

*o*o*o*o*

"H-huh? Where am I?" The teenaged boy sputtered, his eyes flaring open to reveal himself in the town square of a ghost town.

"Be quiet, Anthony!" his father's voice snapped, and Anthony scrambled to his feet, surprised to see his father, Mark, there with him. He got to his feet, his clothes disheveled and his chin unshaved. He looked this way and that, equally alarmed. "What the hell? How'd we get here? Is this someone's idea of a joke?"

"I don't know! You went out to gamble last night and get wasted. Maybe you cheated and someone took revenge?" Anthony spat, fear rising in his gut.

Mark snorted. "Don't say that bull, son. No one can catch me. Let's just figure out where we are and get out of here."

There was a quiet groan, and Anthony looked over to see his sister Emily get up off the dusty ground, sweeping dust off her checkered dress. She pushed her blonde hair out of her face. "Father? Where are we?"

"I don't know, damn it! Be quiet for a minute and let me -" Mark growled, taking a few steps back. He stopped when he ran into a small, round table, its legs dug halfway into the ground for stability. Mark and the others crowded around it, seeing a red spiral pattern painted onto the table's surface and a note pinned there. Muttering his confusion, Mark tore the paper from the table and read its contents.

_Hello, and welcome to my ghost town. I want to play a game. Right now, the three of you are being tested by me, the Jigsaw Killer, to see if you can truly repent for your sins and live a real life. There is a ten-foot-high fence with barbed wire around this town and there is only one gate. That gate has four locks on it, and the keys to those locks are located in buildings at this town's corners. Mark, your wife Mary is in the northeast corner's building, and she must escape her test to bring her key to the gate._

Mark could hardly believe it. His beloved wife, locked in some building in this nightmarish town? But there was more to the note... _The rest of you must go to the northwest, southwest, and southeast buildings to retrieve your keys and assemble at the gate to unlock it. But hurry – I have armed men in this town, and they are all armed. When the clock tower in the town square shows noon, my men will shoot anyone who is not one of their kind. Let the game begin._

Mark clenched his teeth, anger and confusion raging through his mind. "How the hell... no! Mary!"

"What is it?" Emily asked timidly, and Mark rounded on her, brandishing the note. "The Jigsaw Killer wants us to go to the corners of the town and retrieve keys to escape! There's a fence around this town and only one gate with four locks on it."

"What? No way! I can't believe this," Anthony whined, clenching his fists.

"We have no choice. You know how well the Jigsaw Killer works," Mark lamented. "Listen. Your mother is in a building at the northeast corner of the town. There's a map on this paper for where the rest of us go."

"Well we make it in time?" Emily whimpered.

Mark consulted the paper, his eyes frantically scanning the words. Then, he looked over at a clock tower on the town hall, and to his alarm, the hands showed that it was already 11:50 AM. "We... we have only ten minutes to get out of here. That includes your mother." He gave his children hard looks. "There's no time to waste. Hurry, and get those keys! I want everyone at the gate and out of here alive. The gate's at the west side of the fence."

Anthony and Emily nodded tersely and checked the map for their assigned corners of the map, then scampered off to retrieve their keys. Mark made his way through the abandoned streets to find the southwest corner of the town, noting the armed, black-clad enforcers here and there who watched him warily. Indeed, if he and his family didn't hurry... they'd all be dead.

*o*o*o*o*

"So tell me, Jigsaw... why are you doing this to my brother's family?"

"Why am I doing this, you ask?" John gave Richard a thoughtful look at the other's question. A light wind picked up. "Shouldn't it be clear, Sheriff? Because some people, some morally wayward people, do not understand the value and joy of life, or the lives of others. I am a teacher and guide, Sheriff. I help people to find their value in life... or die in the process as a punishment for failure."

"But that doesn't justify these atrocious devices and kidnappings you use!" Simmons growled back, jabbing an accusing finger at John. The outlaw passively looked at the finger. "You're a wanted man for a reason, Kramer! The law won't allow what you're doing, no matter what lesson you teach!"

"Do you despise your brother, Sheriff?" John asked calmly. Richard lowered his finger. "What?"

John repeated, "Your brother, Mark Simmons. He's a notorious outlaw like I am, guilty of many moral and legal offenses. You're a law enforcer, yet you do nothing, allow him to pursue this lifestyle no matter how much damage he causes. How can that be?"

"Because... because he's my brother!" Richard spat. He glanced at the town again, and watched his brother and his two kids run to different corners of the town to try and find a way out. "I can't..."

"Can't help him?" John asked testily. "You claim to value him, but you let him continue this course of misery. One would think that you'd arrest him and punish him, to show him a chance for repentance and to rid the world of his evils. It's what he needs, Richard, but you deny it to him. So, I'm doing it for you, with you as a witness."

"That's... it's my family and my business!" Richard flared up. "How can you...?"

"I had a brother once," John sighed, looking away. "He was broke, he was miserable, he had nothing but me. I let hit happen to him, watched but did nothing as he slid away. I didn't try hard enough to comfort him or get him back on his feet, and eventually, he shot himself." John looked back at Richard. "I didn't care about my brother enough, and I lost him because of it. Now, I whip others into shape when they need it, and the survivors claim that their lives have been changed for the better. Haven't you heard?"

Richard looked down. "I... I have." In some of the local papers, a few Jigsaw survivors had claimed a new outlook on life and finding the burning will to live and make the most of their time on this Earth. Some folks thought the survivors were crazy, including Richard. "And now you want my brother and his family to hear your oh-so-great message?"

John's chilling smile returned.

*o*o*o*o*

"Okay, this is it," Emily muttered to herself, confronting a moderate-sized wooden house at her corner of the town, the southeast. The windows had bars fixed over them, and the door was closed. Emily cautiously approached, her bare feet uncomfortable on the dusty ground. _Why did I wake up without my shoes? _All the same, she crept to the house and onto the porch, seeing another note tacked onto the door.

Heart hammering, Emily took it and read: _Emily, you and your brother merely leech off your father's ill-gotten money, hoarding goods for yourself and idling with wasteful hobbies, including mercilessly hunting rattlesnakes and other wildlife out of spite. Emily, rattlesnakes are innocent creatures of nature, but you and your brother merely gorge on money and possessions and slay these animals for fun. Now, you will confront your victims as the prey rather than the predator. Can you do what it takes to survive?_

A hard lump of fear welled in Emily's stomach as she dropped the note, everything in her mind telling her not to go in the house and run away instead. _But... the key! I have to. _She swallowed and swung open the door, straining against its weight and taking a step into the well-lit house. Just as she released the door, Emily saw a thick spring connecting it to the ceiling, and the spring snapped the door shut. A second later, Emily found out why Jigsaw wanted it that way.

The house consisted of just one room, and a silver key was lying on the floor at the far side of the room, an inviting target for Emily's fingers. And crawling around the room were dozens of rattlesnakes.

_Oh no, oh no... I hate snakes! _Emily twitched, her fearful eyes watching the countless reptiles slithering about, their collective hissing and dry, rasping slithering a horrible sound to Emily's ears. A few of the snakes looked over at her, their round eyes watchful at the vulnerable human before them. _Anthony and I killed these things, but we sold the skins! We didn't waste anything, I swear! Well... I have to try. I'm sorry, snakes, for what I did! I think..._

She inhaled, suddenly realizing why she had been denied any footwear for the test. She took a cautious step forward, leaning her weight on the wooden floor with a creak. A nearby rattlesnake slithered by, flicking its tongue as it glared up at the girl before it. Gulping, Emily slowly shifted her weight and took another step toward the key, but two rattlers were close by, her foot barely missing one. Stomach lurching in terror, Emily froze in place, praying for her safety. The snakes turned away from her foot, shaking their rattles as a warning.

Now Emily shifted her weight again and carefully slid her left foot forward, waiting for a snake to pass before dragging her right foot forward. If she shuffled along, she couldn't step on a snake, even if doing so made this process take longer. But then again... the 10-minute time limit. She had to hurry.

Throat clenching in terror, Emily rasped her breaths one at a time as she shakily darted past the slithering snakes, their warning rattles and dry rasp of scales sounding far too loud. The key drew close, and Emily took a breath and leaped over a few snakes, landing right over the key. Making a sound of victory, she knelt and picked it up on her right hand, enjoying the cool, hard feeling of freedom. Turning around, she prepared to head back to the room's only door. She glanced at the barred windows, and saw a number of armed men standing right outside, prepared to shoot if she went past the time limit.

_I've got to get going! _Emily waited for a rattler to pass by, then took one step, then another and another. The doorway crept closer, the outside light from the windows seeming like the light of heaven itself. Emily dragged her right foot forward, but a particularly large rattlesnake crawled up to her left foot, its scales rubbing against her bare skin. Yelping, Emily jerked her foot away, but her right foot was at an odd angle, and she felt her stomach lurch from the loss of balance. Emily swung her left foot to regain her balance, but her left foot stomped down right on another rattlesnake. The reptile hissed and spat in alarm, its fangs flashing onto her ankle.

Hot pain burst in Emily's ankle, and she cried out and grasped at her left foot, but the damage was done. The snake slithered away with a shake of its rattle, but Emily felt her left leg going numb and she stumbled, falling clumsily to the wooden floor, almost landing on another snake. The snake, alarmed, lashed out and sank its fangs into her arm, and Emily gritted her teeth against the pain. As the snake slithered away, Emily tried to drag herself forward but her leg wouldn't cooperate, and she couldn't get past the other snakes without them biting her too. Her vision started to fade as she began to faint, and the last thing Emily thought to do was whisper a prayer, but she lost all sensation and blacked out.

*o*o*o*o*

"So... it's got to be around here somewhere," Anthony muttered to himself, reaching the northwest section of the town. None of the buildings seemed to have any markings on them, but when Anthony hurried over to the very last building at the fence's corner, he realized that it was a blacksmith shop with a note pinned to the door. Stomach lurching, Anthony tried to swallow in a dry throat and stepped up to the door, tearing the paper from the wood to read.

_Anthony, you and your sister know nothing but greed and waste, hoarding your parents' ill-gotten treasures and idling with terrible pastimes. Now, I want to see if you can look past your infinite stores of wealth and riches to find your key to survival inside. Push past your riches, and you'll find your salvation. But I warn you... the fires of hell are there to punish your grasping fingers._

"Okay... what the hell?" Anthony rolled his eyes, trying to make light of this predicament. Slipping the paper into his pocket, he pushed open the door and into the window-lit interior, where he inexplicably found a smothering of coins on the coal-table, and upon coming closer, Anthony could tell that someone had been working the billows. Heat radiated from the table, fire raging right underneath. Anthony stared at the layer of coins, his mind racing. _Is... is the key in there somewhere? But that would take forever to uncover! And the fire!_

He took a step back, trying to reject the horrible notion creeping into his mind. _I've got to rifle though those hot coins to find my key? No! I ain't doing that! _But then again, he looked outside the barred windows and saw a number of armed outlaws, the men that the initial paper warned would shoot him if the time limit ran out. Taking a deep breath, Anthony stepped forward and plucked at a few coins on the table, finding them warm. He threw them away, the metal coins clattering to the wooden floor. Pursing his lips, Anthony grabbed a fistful of coins and raked them away, his hands uncomfortably warm from their touch. He raked out with his other hand, working deeper into the layer, his skin throbbing in protest from the hot metal's touch.

_Come on... come ON! _Anthony gasped and bit back a cry as he dug further across the layer of money, the coins growing hotter the more he dug into them. His hands felt soft and tender, stinging and seething from the burning metal. "Aaaaargh!" After scooping away another handful, he raised his left hand, tears stinging in his eyes as he saw his hand's skin start to char and curl. He wanted to stop, but that damned key was still in there, taunting him. Taking another shaky breath, Anthony shouted to distract himself from the scaling pain of the burning coins. Rivers of gold and silver coins washed to the floor as Anthony raked his burnt hands though the pile, his blackened hands losing sensation wherever his nerves were burned out of his crispy skin.

Once again, Anthony stumbled back, his hands pulsing and aching from the intense burns. _If I don't get this done now, I'll lose the use of both my hands! I have to... _He gulped. _Use just one hand to dig, and use the other to carry my key to the fence's gate. _Choosing to preserve his right hand, Anthony winced and lashed out with his left hand, sweeping away even more coins from the hot coals, his flesh crying out from the renewed exposure to hot metal. Clenching his teeth until they ached, Anthony frantically raked away keys until he saw a long, thin metal object among the coins he swept away – the key!

He clumsily reached out, pushing away the coins on the coal bed and picking up the hot key with his right hand. Wasting no time, Anthony tore off his left sleeve and wrapped it around his key, then stuffed the whole package into his pocket. Mentally cursing Jigsaw to hell and back, Anthony exited the blacksmith shop and hurried down the town's street to reach the table where this nightmare had started.

*o*o*o*o*

"You look troubled, Sheriff," John Kramer smirked, narrowing his dark eyes as he gave Richard a sideways look. His solid-black horse snorted, blinking in the bright sun.

Richard ground his teeth, breath hissing. "That's my brother's family down there! In that damn town for your _game_! I should get down there and -"

"Easy now, Sheriff. Don't do anything rash," John reminded him. "There are rules." His fellow outlaws brandished their pistols, a warning to behave. Richard glared back down at the town, where his brother and two children had run off to different corners of the town. "Where's his wife?"

"She's already in her building, and should be confronting her test right now. It's the family's job to survive, and yours to watch."

"I've told you before," Richard growled, "they don't deserve this!" He had never felt this helpless.

John only chuckled. "Do you want to see your brother again?"

"What – of course!"

"Would you have said that if your brother committed another crime and you had the chance to arrest him?"

"You're just trying to confuse me, ain't ya?"

John shook his head from side to side. "No, Sheriff, I'm not. If your brother and his family were to survive their peril, you would forget all their sins in a single moment and embrace them tightly. And yet, after all this time you never found the heart to do so for any other reason." He pursed his lips, eyes boring holes into Richard. "Why do we never appreciate our lives or those of loved ones until a near brush with death, feeling the touch of Death's hand?"

"Now you're _definitely _trying to mix me up," Richard leered, but he felt his heart sink. _He... he's right. You don't know the value of something until it's gone. _"What, I can't go help them now? Haven't I learned my lesson?"

"You disappoint me, Sheriff," Jigsaw sneered. "Remember the rules! You are not to interfere. In just a few minutes' time, your brother's family members will prove themselves worthy of another chance... or face the ultimate punishment. I only ask that you bear witness, or all this is for nothing."

Sweating, Richard peeked around the corner of his eyes at the pistols trained on him, held tight by Jigsaw's cronies. Swallowing in a tight throat, Richard tightly gripped the reins of his horse, flicking his eyes back to the ghost town before him.

*o*o*o*o*

_You kids had better do this right, _Mark Simmons glowered to himself as he dashed through the ghost town's dusty streets, empty buildings flashing by. _I ain't gonna die today! We meet at that table and get the hell out of here after that. Mary... please make it okay. I just want to see your face again._

Then, Mark stopped dead as he reached a two-story building right at the fence's corner, the lower level's windows barred. Cautiously, Mark approached the closed wooden door and spotted a note tacked to the wood, and he snatched it up and scanned its contents. _Mark Simmons, mastermind of your little crime gang. For your misdeeds, you're already destined for the gallows, but have evaded such a fate for so long. Now, I want to see if you can dodge your fate once again for your family's sake._

"Oh, for mercy's..." Mark snorted and whirled around, trying to find anything else he could do. There was none, only the hot sun overhead, an unblinking observer of Jigsaw's cruel game. Grinding his teeth, Mark threw away the note and wrenched open the door, finding himself in a small room, bare save for a staircase leading to the upper level. Gut squirming, Mark tromped up the stairs and found himself in another empty room, except for a small table on te opposite end with a silver key on it. Cracking a wide grin, Mark greedily stomped across the bare room to snatch the key.

The floor gave out halfway there.

"Jesus –!" As soon as Mark planted his foot on the floor mid-way to the key, a trapdoor fell, wide enough to take up the whole room's width to ensure Mark would be caught. Taken by surprise, Mark tumbled down the empty void to the lower level, but something was there to stop him. A noose tied to the lower level's roof was held up by thin ropes, the loop positioned just right. Mark's head slipped right into that noose, the deadly rope tightening on his neck. Mark hung, suspended in the empty lower room but still alive. He hadn't fallen with enough speed to break his neck, but the noose dug smartly into his fleshy throat, painfully cutting into his breathing.

_No... no! Anything but this! _Desperate, Mark reached up to seize the noose's rope and hoist himself up, but slick softness stopped him. Scrambling his hands along the rope, Mark realized that the hangman's knot was coated in soft grease and tar, preventing him from getting a tight grip. Blood pounding in his head, Mark whipped his head around, trying to find his exit. This room was horribly bare except for a closed and locked door at the far end with another key lying before it. Mark looked to his right and saw a machete propped up on a shelf to the right, at the correct level to reach out for. Loving the sight of that machete, Mark stretched out his arm to take hold, but the tool was too far away, horribly out of reach.

Mark strained his arm farther, grunting as he tried to take the machete, but it was simply too far. His head starting to feel faint, Mark realized that he could swing himself like a pendulum, and build up enough momentum to reach the machete and cut himself down. _Yeah... that's it! Come on, old boy. _Grunting again, Mark worked his muscles as hard as he could, painfully aware that the extra effort would use up more air in his lungs, hastening his impending death. Clenching his jaw, Mark fought through the haze in his brain, swinging back and forth to build up the momentum, the machete coming closer with every swing. Mark's breaths came in tiny, panicked wheezes as he worked, the machete drawing closer to his numb fingers with every swing. Then... his fingers closed on the machete's handle, and he dragged the weapon to his side.

_Don't let... me... die! _Mark raised the machete, every muscle in his body burning with the exertion. He hacked the blade at his ropes as hard as he could, the metal edge biting into the thick, slick rope over and over. Mark could hear the rope fibers splitting from the pressure, but his vision was fading and his chest felt like an elephant sat on him. He hacked the machete into the rope again, furious that the blade was this dull. Even so, he heard more rope fibers yield, and then he drew back the machete for another swing, but his oxygen-starved fingers gave up. The machete fell from Mark's fingers, and he watched it fall as if in slow motion. The bladed tool clanged onto the wooden floor, forever out of reach. Squirming despite the pain, Mark grabbed at the slick rope to try and tear it, but his arms went slack and fell by his sides, and then his body moved no more, only swaying slightly from the leftover momentum.

*o*o*o*o*

Mary awoke, her eyes snapping open. Wherever she was, it was not a good place. Shackles bound every limb, and she realized that she was lying down inside a huge wooden building, three times as long as wide, and she was at the very back. Looking down, she saw that her bare ankles were each bound to a prisoner's ball-and-chain, and her wrists too to make four total. Panicking, Mary sat up, eyes wide and heart thumping. _Where am I? _"Mark! Mark! Where are you? Where am I?"

There was no answer, only the rustle of wind blowing through the cracks in the wooden walls. Throat clenching, Mary looked down at a piece of paper at her feet, and she moved her left arm to pick it up, but biting pain stung in her wrist. Gasping, Mary looked into the iron cuff, and saw a dozen little metal spikes in there, each one digging into her wrist. Moving slowly, Mary gradually moved her hand to pick up the paper, trying not to aggravate the cuff spikes. She quickly scanned the paper's contents and realized what was going on.

_Hello, Mary. Right now, you and your family are locked in a fenced-off ghost town, and the only exit gate has four keys. Each one of you is to retrieve a key and bring it to the gate before time runs out, and your trap is a little different than those of your husband and children. All this time, you chose to live with Mark's crime life, enjoying riches and making others miserable. Now, you have a chance to escape, but will have to make another choice. The grueling but survivable route, or the short but perilous one? The doors to your left and forward will both get you out of here, but you must choose one. Hurry – the whole family only has only a short time to escape before my guards in the town shoot you all dead. Live or die, make your choice. _The paper further explained the location of the fence gate, and about the round table in the town square and the test buildings at each town corner.

Tears welling in her eyes, Mary threw aside the paper, shouting, "We didn't deserve this! Help! Someone get me out of here! Anyone!" But there was no answer, and the Jigsaw Killer was known to always keep his word. Trying not to choke on the lump in her throat, Mary stood up, the wrist chains long enough to let her stoop without aggravating the spikes in each cuff. She shifted around a little in her ankle cuffs, and felt similar spikes in each.

_This can't be happening! _Breathing hard, Mary saw that the door to her left was rather close, but a pistol was built over the wall, with strings and wheels attached to the door and the gun trigger. Writing on the door proclaimed: "The door has no lock, and the key to your shackles and one of the gate's locks lies beyond." Mary wanted to go that way... but the gun! There was a wooden frame around the door, which would force her to stand in the gun's way while opening the door and going through the frame.

Then, there was the door at the other end of the room. It was far away, but there was no gun, and Mary looked down at the floor near her feet, finding writing there where the note had been: "A longer journey lies ahead, but with no peril. The key to your shackles and your gate lock lies beyond."

_So... long way and get bitten by the shackles and possibly take too long, or take the short route and get shot, potentially fatally? _Mary looked back and forth between the two doors, mind racing in indecision. She didn't want the pain of the long route or the bullet of the short route, nor did she want to die because of the time limit expiring. Sweat ran down her face. _What can I do? I don't want to be in here, damn it! No!_

Mary gulped a few breaths to regain her nerves, then steeled herself and made her decision. She reached down and scooted her ankles' metal balls forward, adding slack to the chains. She trudged forward a few steps, her ankles unharmed. Then, she grabbed her left wrist's steel ball and moved it forward, then tried to go back and hoist forth her last metal ball, but couldn't reach. Frowning, Mary tugged on the cuff and her ball scooted forward, at the price of piercing pain all over her right wrist, making her gasp.

Mind whirring, Mary moved her left ankle's ball up again, but going back for the right one took up all the left chain's tension, and the little spikes cut into her fleshy left ankle, a dozen pinpricks of punishment. Fighting back a shout, Mary abandoned her scheme and tugged at her wrists, chains clanking as the upper metal balls scooted forward and blood leaked from her punctured wrists. She yanked with her right leg, crying out as the spikes in her ankle cuff dug into her skin, releasing warm blood that dripped onto the wooden floor. Mary dragged her left leg in a long, deliberate step, trying to ignore the pain of pulling the heavy metal ball along, the spikes unrelenting against her ankle.

Right leg, right arm, left leg, left arm. Mary didn't stop thinking about her family as she groaned in protest, making her agonized way across the long room to the waiting door. It still seemed far away... and her ankles and wrists were in hell, blood dripping with every move. The door drew closer, but Mary realized that she had only traveled less than a quarter of the way there, her steps small and timid as the pain got worse. She didn't want to risk the gun in the short route, but if she didn't hurry... _can I really sacrifice my family to escape a bullet? _Panting and gulping in a dry throat, Mary looked back the way she had come, at the nearby gun-loaded door. It looked so inviting now...

And she snapped. Making an increasingly loud shout of agony and defiance, Mary dragged herself forward with renewed vigor and speed, changing direction and heading right for the gun-door. Her ankles and wrists bled and stung with the sudden movement, but Mary stopped caring, the salvation of the door the only thing on her mind. She was almost there, but another spike-bite into her left ankle toppled Mary, her foot unwilling to cooperate. She dragged herself forward, leaving streaks of blood as she fought her way to the waiting door. Then, she scrambled to her feet and stood right at the door, her limbs trembling as she prepared for the worst. She seized the doorknob and didn't give herself any time; just pushed the door wide open, letting sunlight pour into this hall of torment.

Mary lunged forward as fast as she could, and she heard the deafening crack of the pistol fire as soon as she opened the door and made her lunge. Pain exploded in her right hand as she tumbled forward, wrenching another cry from her. Clutching at her injured hand, Mary sprawled onto the open ground of a sunlit ghost town, realizing that the gun's bullet had caught her hand. It hurt... but she was alive and free from the building.

_Key! The key! _Mary scrambled to her feet, whipping her gaze here and there for her prize. The silver key was right there, placed on a little wooden shelf beside the door frame. Mary seized it, shoving the key into the locks for each of her cuffs. Thankfully, each spike-laden cuff popped open at the key's turns, and Mary was free to move easily, her many puncture wounds clearly visible on her skin. She took just a second to recuperate, then tore off for the town's center to find her family. Pain wasn't going to stop her now.

*o*o*o*o*

"Mom! Mom, you're okay!"

Anthony had made it back to the little table in the town square, breathlessly waiting for the rest of his family to arrive with their keys. Noon was approaching fast, and no one else was here except him. Now, his mother came stumbling to the town square from the last corner of the town, her ankles and wrists bleeding. Mary saw her son and hurried forward, grasping him in a tight embrace. "Anthony!"

"I know, but we've got to get out of here or we're all dead," Anthony rushed as his mom let go. "Emily and dad aren't back yet. I... I'm not sure if they are going to make it."

"But we need their keys to escape, right?"

"Yeah." Anthony checked his surroundings, then raised his hands to emphasize. "Mom, get to the southwest where dad went. I'll get to the southeast where Emily went. Whatever happened to them, we have to get them and their keys to the west fence and unlock the gate! The rules didn't say anything about not helping. We must try it."

Mary looked alarmed, wringing her hands. "Anthony! Your hands..."

Anthony lowered them, glancing at the burnt flesh. "Y... yeah, but I survived my test. Let's go!"

Mary took off and so did Anthony, tearing down the town's empty streets until he found a house at the very corner, wrenching open the heavy door. He gasped: dozens of rattlesnakes crawled about, and even worse, his sister lay face-down, facing the doorway and with a key in her hand. None of the snakes went close to Emily, so Anthony knelt next to his sister, trying to wake her. She didn't respond, her head lolling and her eyes closed. Panic rising in his gut, Anthony checked for a pulse and found a weak one: she was alive, but needed to get out of here fast to reach a doctor. Anthony slipped her key into his pocket and, fighting against the pain of his burnt hands, slung his sister over his shoulder and wrenched the door open again, making his way to the west fence. He could see the clock tower from here... and the minute hand was just about on the 12. There were only seconds left.

"Mom! Come on! We've got no more time!" Anthony bellowed in no particular direction, trying to fight down the vision of Jigsaw's men gunning his mother down. He ran along the fence's unyielding side until he at last found the wide gate, and beheld the four locks on its side, one on top of the other. Each was etched with a few letters, the top one with "Mark," the second with "Mary," the third with "Anth," and the last with "Em." Aware that he was seconds from getting shot by the Jigsaw enforcers drawing close, Anthony fumbled and got his key out, shoving it in the "Anth" lock and twisting it. He heard the metallic click of the deadbolt sliding away, a sure sign that this could work. Emily's key worked in its lock, making that two out of four.

"Mom!" Anthony turned again, and saw his teary mother scampering over. "Wh-what happened? Did dad...?"

"He was hanged," Mary's voice trembled. "I g-got down the trapdoor into the lower level of his building, wh-where there was a machete and a key on a shelf. H-here it is, and mine too."

Anthony fought back the tears at the news of his father's demise, but he had no plans to wind up dead, too. He stepped aside and let his mom use her key and then Mark's, getting all four locks open.

Then the clock tower chimed noon.

"Go! Go!" Anthony kicked at the gate and it creaked open, revealing the desert terrain beyond. He ushered his mom along and she scampered forward just as a handful of Jigsaw's men came close and raised their guns to shoot. Making a rude gesture at the men, Anthony dashed out of the fence's perimeter, no longer a valid target. The men lowered their guns, but then jumped as gunshots rang out in another portion of the town.

*o*o*o*o*

"Only seconds left, Sheriff Simmons," John commented, squinting at the clock tower as first Anthony and then Mary reached the gate, fumbling to get their keys in. A number of Jigsaw's enforcers closed in on them, raising their guns to shoot when the time limit ran out. Seeing those guns raised was too much for Richard.

_The boy and his mother are not going to make it! Hell, they'll probably shoot even if the boy and my sister-in-law get out! Jigsaw and his men are killers, damn it! _He gripped the reigns of his horse, hunching forward in the animal's saddle.

"Hold still, Sheriff. The game's not quite over yet," John reminded him, but the cruel smile on his face was too much, driving Richard to make his move. Once he was sure that the men around him had their full attention on the town, Richard slapped his horse's thigh, and the animal galloped at full speed, whinnying at the sudden provocation. Raising his pistol tight, Richard urged his horse to leap over the rocky ridge's edge and over the fence, shocking even Jigsaw and his personal guard.

However, the distance was greater than it looked, and Richard's horse tumbled in mid-air and hit the fence's barbed-wire top, collapsing on the outside. Richard, meanwhile, was thrown into the town, tumbling across the hard, sun-baked dirt and coming to a halt just as the clock tower struck noon.

"No!" Richard leaped to his feet, pistol drawn for action. He wasn't sure how he could get this done, he just had to do _something. _The bandaged bear-trap wounds still stung on his wrists, reminders that he wouldn't tolerate Jigsaw's games anymore, no matter the price.

But this time, the price was too great. By the rules, Richard was a valid target, and his body jerked and exploded with blood as the nearest enforcers raised their pistols and riddled Richard with their bullets. Too stunned to even think, Richard collapsed to the ground, his last sight the blazing, uncaring sun overhead.

Back on the rock ridge, Jigsaw fought back a smirk as he beheld Richards' failure. "I thought this would happen, and it did," he commented to his guards over the tower's tolls, and his men chuckled and guffawed at the grim spectacle. Pulling on his midnight-black horse's reigns, John got his horse galloping, wheeling it around and sped away. "Let's ride!" His men followed on their own horses, leaving the gristly scene behind. Their fellows in the town would catch up later to recount the fun time they had in Jigsaw's latest game.


End file.
